For Thanksgiving, Josh and I drove over to the tiny town of Lorraine, Texas (population 646) to spend a couple of days with his grandmother and many cousins. It's about an 11-hour drive from Tucson, so we set out early Wednesday morning to make the drive. Driving through Texas has got to be the most boring thing I've ever done. And unfortunately, I've done it numerous times. This time, however, we had an eventful pit stop about half way to Big Mama's house.
For those who have never driven far distances along Interstate 10 or other main highways through southern parts of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, you may not know about the friendly folks at the Border Patrol check points. You may not even realize that there are checkpoints, because I-10 doesn't ever actually cross the international border. Just past El Paso going east, everyone has to go through one of these mandatory checkpoints. Typically, you roll down your window, a uniformed agent asks you if you are a US citizen, and then you go about your merry way. Sometimes they have drug dogs walking up and down the line of cars, and sometimes they don't. Sometimes they don't even make you roll down your window, they simply wave you through. This time, Josh and I pulled up to the white line, rolled down our windows, and expected to be sent along like usual. This time, the drug dog went bonkers around my car, we got a few very stern and suspicious looks, and were asked to pull over to the side of the road.
We were asked to step out of the car, and an agent assured us that they were only going to do a quick exterior check of the car, and that it would only take a moment. "I need you to be honest with me. Do you have drugs in your car?" No. "Okay, I'm going to ask you again, and you need to be honest. Do you do drugs? Do you have any drugs?" No. Seriously, No. "You need to take your hands out of your pockets. Is there something in your pockets?" Next thing I know, there is a huge German Shepard hopping back and forth over the seats in my car. Then we see a guy in handcuffs being led away by a BP agent carrying a huge mason jar of marijuana. And there are two other BP agents trying to subdue a very loudly-yelling man in the back of a truck next to us. And our stuff starts getting pulled out of the trunk of the car. What is going on here??
We are asked to go sit inside the building for a few minutes, and when I inquire as to why I am not allowed to watch them search my own car (especially since my purse was still there), they tell me to stay put and not worry. Right. The handcuffed guy is now shackled to the same bench on which Josh and I are sitting while somebody counts out the giant wads of cash they found in his vehicle. Awesome.
When they finally come back in to tell us that there are no drugs in our car (duh) and we are free to leave, we get handed the key and told nothing- no explanation of what set the dog off, no thank you, no have a good day, nothing. When we go to get into the car, both front seats are soaked because the dog had knocked over a drink from the console and spilled it everywhere. Our stuff is in a jumble in the trunk, our food scattered across the backseat, and my huge ziploc bag of homemade cookies had been trampled and ripped open by the drug-sniffing German Shepard. All of this, and we weren't even crossing any borders!
Thanks for keeping our country safe, boys.
The rest of our trip was pretty uneventful, comparatively. We spent most of our time hanging out at Josh's grandmother's house with she and Josh's mom. I got to meet lots and lots of the family on Thanksgiving, and on Friday we took a little trip out to see an archaeological site on some land owned by J's aunt and uncle. Then we drove back to Tucson. On the way home, we got waved right through the border inspection station without even needing to roll down our window. I guess the drug dogs at the Las Cruces border patrol station must not like cinnamon cookies as much as the El Paso drugs dogs.
Ain't that America, land of the freeeeeee...
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